New York snow
by Jubella
Summary: "When it comes to Rachel, all her efforts are in vain. Everything is upside down, black is white and red is green. Rachel challenges all of her laws."


She walks through the streets unnoticed, even with her red hat amongst all the snow. She's sure people would judge her if they knew why she has here. She knows she has no right to intrude; it used to be her duty to stay away, her only good deed for the last years of high school. Leave her alone.  
She knew back then, although she wasn't able to admit it, that she would end up here. At some hour of some day, of a year not too far away, watching from afar. The ticket in the left pocket of her jeans weights like a ton of bricks, it makes her unable to forget even for a second what she's about to do, where she's about to go.  
The entrance to the theatre is warm, allows her to take off her gloves, hat and scarf. She places her coat carefully on her lap once she sits down, and her right leg begins to bounce with anticipation.  
She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. It's been a while since the last time she sat down to watch her perform. As always, she keeps a straight face even when her heart pounds in her chest, her palms begin to sweat. There's still ten minutes before the curtain opens.

Always waiting for her.  
It's been eleven years since she last saw her. She still can't forget the feelings that arouse in her body everytime she saw her on stage. The heat, the blood running thick, the sweat, her heartbeat.  
She rests her elbows on her knees and hides her face in her hands, trying to make the air reach her lungs.  
_She can't see you, you'll be ok._  
The lights dim, and that's how she knows she spent seven minutes doing breathing exercises and trying to calm her heartbeat. The show begins and that's when she knows it's been in vane.  
Rachel appears.  
Hearing her voice isn't what she expected. It isn't, because everytime she's alone in a room, everytime the world fells silent, Rachel's voice is in her head. Singing, talking, simply breathing. It's nothing new, because she's never been able to forget that voice. After two years, she stopped trying.  
When it comes to Rachel, all her efforts are in vain. Everything is upside down, black is white and red is green. Rachel challenges all of her laws. Her beliefs. Always did, since they were seventeen.  
Nothing prepares her to see her so close, though. She's seen magazines, TV appearances, even that whole minute in a movie. But it doesn't compare.  
She's still little, still breathtakingly gorgeous, still heavenly sinful.  
In her mind, in her world, Rachel's everything that's wrong and sinfully right.  
Her hair, her face, her body. It all hunts her.  
Her breasts, her legs. It all chases her, keeping her from sleep, from straight thinking.  
_From moving on._  
She has never, not once, been able to look at her from more than a minute without looking away. From dislike, or confusion, or undeniable want. From love.  
But this time, she'll fight it, because she doesn't want to miss a second of this chance.  
She knows it won't come again. Because she knows she's not coming back. Ever.  
The thought sends a piercing pain to her chest, and tears on her eyes.  
But the tears are also from pride. Pride that _her_ Rachel kept her promise and achieved her dreams.  
She won't get in her way. That's why she's doing this.  
Seeing her from afar on the tenth row, keeping her feelings inside for so long.  
Rachel breaks into song, and she can't hold the tears anymore. Nor the chill that runs trough her spine and the goosebumps on her body. Her breath catches in her throat as her eyes lock to Rachel in awe. In longing.  
The two hours come and go fast.  
She's still for a whole five minutes after the curtain closes, in the same position since the show started. Despite the heat of the theatre, she's trembling.  
She knows she has to let go, she always knew that. She should be used to it.  
But not now, now she can't seem to get up, to move. She has to leave. Soon enough, people will come down to clean; security will ask her politely to go away. She knows, but she can't.  
It's been eleven years since the last time she saw her, and two hours don't seem enough. She's not whole, nor complete. There's no sense of achievement, not one cell of her body has moved on. She was so naïve to think so. She wants to laugh at herself.  
It's not enough, she wasn't able to feel her warmth, smell her perfume, her skin didn't tickled from the closeness like it used to do. The pain in her chest and the back of her eyes says it so. She knew she wouldn't be able to hold her, like the only time she did in high school when they graduated. She knew she would be watching from afar. What did she expect?  
She shakes her head. This feeling is almost all too familiar. She felt it when she saw Rachel with Finn in high school; she felt it when Rachel would sing those love songs in Glee in their last year. Even when she knew those songs weren't for Finn anymore, she knew they were for_ someone_, and it hurt. In those moments, she would take Sam's hand and pretend everything was ok. Now? Now she doesn't have to pretend. But she can't cry, not here and not now. And even if she tried, she couldn't. Once upon a time, she would wait to get home and lock herself in her room, but this feeling is different. This pain, she can't let out. It's burning her insides, but it doesn't want to leave. She can't cry it out; she knows it will be there forever.  
She takes a deep breath and hangs the scarf on her neck, puts the gloves in her coat pocket and puts on her red wool hat. Before getting up, she runs her hands though her face, trying to ease the trembling in order for her legs to function.  
She walks slowly though the seats until she reaches the hallway and climbs up the stairs, putting on her coat; walks away from the stage, from Rachel, and from hope.  
She breathes once she gets through the theatre's doors and into the cold New York air, with its landscapes covered in snow and its people running either to or away from something. But she's got no direction now. She doesn't need to rush. Wrapping the white scarf around her neck, she walks away.  
She's half way through the block when the warm hand wraps around her pale, ungloved one.  
-Where are you going? -The voice whispers breathlessly.  
Her heart and her breathing stops, and so does the world. She doesn't dare to turn around.  
-Are you running away from me, or did you not intend to reach out to me?  
She takes a shuddering breath and closes her eyes. It's hard to concentrate when all she wanted - to hear her, to smell her, to _feel_ her - is happening. But she tries really hard.  
-I just wanted to see you one more time. -She whispers.  
She would think she hasn't been heard, but the hand on hers moves to her wrist and tightens. Still, she doesn't turn around. She doesn't dare to. It could all fade away even if she blinks hard.  
-Why just once? -Rachel asks. The quiver in her voice hurts her own throat.  
She doesn't know what that means. Doesn't want to think about what it means, but she turns around.  
It all happens at once.  
Her face is so close, and in such a beautiful pain, it's angelical. Her heart beats on her throat as fast as hummingbird's wings and her tears finally form in her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak, but just her breathing comes out, misting the air, before it shuts again. And the tears finally drop.  
She closes her eyes as Rachel's hand touches her face, catching her tears with her fingers. She can't help but to lean into that warmth, releasing her breath, like a caress in the brunette's approaching face.  
-Don't run away from me, Quinn. -Rachel whispers before brushing their lips together.  
She feels something jolting her insides, melting them as her tears drop as fast as the snow on their heads; her arms wrapping around the brunette's shoulders as Rachel sneaks her bare arms inside her coat and flushes their bodies together as they kiss once more, and then she whispers.  
-Not again.


End file.
